


I was never the monster

by TheKats



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Azkaban, Decided not to describe every minute in Azkaban to make this more readable thank me later, Eating Disorders, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Not the romanticised/dramatised way but the way that makes sense for a traumatised Remus Lupin, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prisoner of Azkaban, Remus Lupin in Azkaban, Sirius Black Raises Harry Potter, Werewolf Discrimination, changing pov also to make things more interesting thank me later haha, remus spends a lot of time in prison so..., reverse au, slow burn?, very irregular updates inbound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:02:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23382754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKats/pseuds/TheKats
Summary: Peter spins his plan so well, he has everyone convinced Remus sold the Potters out to Voldemort.If Remus and Sirius places were swapped, their entire story could have evolved very differently.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 9
Kudos: 40





	1. but I will become one now

It was a stormy night up in Burnley. The windows of the cottage were taking a positive pelting by the fat raindrops outside. That wasn't what was keeping him up, however. Neither was it his host's nightly routine of listening to Bach before bedtime. And the full moon was over a week away still. It was a feeling. A deep, dark feeling, not even a suspicion. Just something bad.

He rolled over onto his side and looked at his watch lying on the night stand. Nearly midnight. He'd have to get out of the cottage early in the morning and the promise of sleep was backing farther and farther out of his grip. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wondered how the others were doing. The last he'd heard from James and Lily was shortly before they'd gone into hiding. Dumbledore had told them about his suspicions and how Harry may be a target for Voldemort. He hadn't seen them in almost a year now, when the boy had still been so tiny and vulnerable. Not that he'd be any less easily breakable by now. Sirius had shown him a picture. Half a year ago, when they had still been seeing each other. Before they had started tearing each other apart piece by piece. Thinking about how much he used to love that man; how they'd sworn nothing could come between them – it hurt. It hurt to remember the look in Sirius' eyes. He was so convinced of everything, he played his part well. Seems he was a good liar after all, when he set his mind to it. Remus just wished people would not have been right about him being 'a Black after all'.

Remus wanted to warn the Potters, but he had no means of contacting them. He'd told Dumbledore and Peter of his suspicions concerning Sirius, but they weren't secret keepers. They couldn't do anything about it. They were all completely and utterly at Sirius' mercy.

Then the way Albus had looked at him when he'd gone to tell him. He was certain Sirius had gotten to him first, told him Remus was the spy and not to trust a word he'd say. And Dumbledore had sent him on a mission in the North. To find Greyback and _reason_ with him. Perhaps he had accepted too easily, but he'd wanted to prove his loyalty. Doubtless, after all they knew of Remus' fears and apprehensions towards Greyback in particular, he'd made himself look like he was already in contact with the other werewolf and hadn't told them. Why hadn't he told them? Because he was on their side, of course. Dumbledore was probably glad, however. This 'mission' felt more like an attempt to get rid of him, get him far away from the rest of them. To protect them from the monster he supposedly was.

Rubbish. The world was working against him, but he was used to that. At least Peter had believed him. Poor, forgotten Peter. He'd seen the worst of things a number of times himself. Their friend was more cunning than many would think. And he knew Remus was not the spy. Him – the spy. It would almost be insulting to him, if this wasn't what he'd come to expect. In the end, he didn't think anyone still believed him. Why would they – he was a werewolf after all. It had only been a matter of time until he'd lose his reason and give in to becoming a full-time monster. Peter was likely simply hoping to get him back on their side.

He huffed a weak, hurt chuckle. Right. He'd loved his friends with all his heart. He still had a hard time banning Sirius from his mind. Knowing his ex was a spy for Voldemort set on selling James, Lily and Harry out to him was one thing. Telling his heart to stop longing for the man he'd thought he was, was a different matter altogether. But was that not just the irony that all his life consisted of? Him not being a savage monster meant he'd have to love one, no? He wished he could deny it, but there was no point. No one to convince but himself. No one who still cared.

A sharp, rapid knocking on the door to his room dragged him out of his thoughts. The music downstairs had stopped playing.

He grabbed his wand and padded over the wooden floor, cautiously pulling the door ajar. It took him a moment to comprehend who he was seeing.

“Peter?”

“Remus!” the short man wailed, his voice hoarse as if he'd been shouting or crying. “Remus, you have to come with me, quick! I don't know what to do!”

Remus lowered his wand, his free hand gripping his friend's shoulder supportively. “What's the matter, Peter? What happened?” He tried to keep his voice calm, but urgency was laced into it.

“It's James and Lily! He knows where they are! You-know-who has found them!” Peter shrieked, and Remus' heart dropped.

He held out his hand and summoned his belongings from the room, suitcase packing itself on the fly. “Go,” he told Peter, who turned and hurried his way out of the cottage, Remus following behind, pulling on his coat as they went a safe distance to disapparate.

When they appeared on the street in Godric's Hollow after multiple stops to make up for the distance, Remus looked instinctively to where he remembered the house being and, sure enough, there it was. Destroyed. The door blown open, a hole in the wall of the upper floor. A light still flickering upstairs. He looked to Peter in shock. The other man was covering his mouth, tears welling up in his eyes.

Remus held his wand tightly and approached the house. He pushed open the gate at the front and moved quickly, but silently. “Lumos,” he whispered, flicking his wand. When he saw James' body on the floor, he covered his mouth like Peter had done outside, knees buckling and a surge of emotions nearly overwhelming him. But he had to stay focussed. If James was already dead down here, Lily could not be alive. Harry...

He quickly made his way up the stairs, wand held high, ready to attack if someone was still in the house. He'd be no match for Voldemort, but he'd damn well die trying. What he found, however, was no dark lord or death eater standing watch. It was Severus on the floor of Harry's bedroom, cradling Lily's corpse. He was rocking back and forth, and if Remus wasn't already affected by her death, the scene before him would knock the wind out of him for sure.

“Severus?” he asked cautiously. The other man did not look up at him.

Remus' gaze drifted across the room, to Harry's cradle. Green eyes looked back up at him; sleepy, scared, confused. Remus let his body sink against the door frame.

Then a loud 'crack' sounded from outside. Suddenly, a lot of things slotted right into place and dread settled over him. He was upright once more, body filled with energy. “Stay with Harry. Wait for Sirius to come pick him up!” he ordered Snape, who hadn't looked one bit as if he was planning to move anytime soon.

Remus bounded down the stairs again, nearly tripping as he stormed back outside. Peter wasn't there. _Fuck!_

Remus disapparated as well. He checked all the usual places, going wherever Peter would usually go. After two hours, he couldn't come up with any further locations. His body was growing weak again as the full weight of things settled in on his bones. With the tiniest sliver of hope, he went back to Godric's Hollow. Killers were likely to revisit crime scenes, right? And anyway, he'd do well to keep an eye on things there, explain to anyone who came what had happened. Well, or maybe just so he cold organise his thoughts and understand for himself.

When he got there, Sirius' bike was outside. At the sound of his apparition, the man's face appeared in a window upstairs and he came bounding out. He was cradling Harry in his arms. “What are you doing here?! Where is Peter?”

“The rat disapparated on me. If I get my hands on him-” he was twisting around like he would find Peter hiding behind a tree when Sirius interrupted him.

“Then what?! You'll kill him?” he bellowed, holding a hand over Harry's ear closest to his mouth.

Remus barked back, anger finally gripping him as tight as never before. “Damn right I will!”

“I'm surprised you haven't already! Needed him still, did you?”

Remus' eyebrows drew together, confused. “What?”

“You should consider yourself lucky that I have Harry with me or else I would kill _you_!” Sirius spat. “I should have known Peter would still trust you. You did always make him feel included.”

Remus frowned. He didn't understand. Why was Sirius still having a go at him? _He_ must have let something slip. _He_ had been secret keeper after all. How was this Remus' fault? Peter had shown him, he must have seen or Sirius must have told him or- Remus' face fell. _Peter_ had been secret keeper. They must have switched. How else would he have been able to show Remus. It was all a plan. Peter. _Peter_. He wanted to explain to Sirius, but judging by the man's expression, he wasn't prepared to believe him anything. He didn't have the time anyway. He disapparated.

His mind and body ran on autopilot. He tracked down one of the death eaters they'd discovered a few weeks ago. Some no-name, low-rank throw-away guy, who told him all he wanted to know about Peter without much persuasion. Evidently, Remus wasn't the only one filled with hatred for that vermin.

So he'd been the spy all along. He'd been on Voldemort's side all this time, stoking the fire, playing them against each other. He'd ruined the life Remus had finally had. His friendships. His relationship with Sirius. His emotional stability.

It was early morning by the time Remus finally found Peter in the list of locations the death eater had given him. People have begun to rise, leave the house to go about their Sunday business. Remus didn't care about them. They knew nothing of the horrible things happening in a world right next to their own. They didn't care that two of his best- his only friends had been killed, their child left orphaned. So why should he care? He was hurting. And he wanted justice.

When he looked around and saw Peter sitting on a bench in the entrance to a park, looking pale and distraught, he made his way over quickly. Peter was holding his hand. When Peter noticed him, he jumped to his feet, squealing and stumbling backwards, as if he was trying to run away. Perhaps he'd thought Remus would already have been caught by now. He didn't care what Peter thought any more.

“YOU!” Peter screamed loudly. Muggles down the street turned to look at them, some closing in. Peter was manoeuvring himself into the middle of as many people as he could. Hoping this would keep him safe? “You _killed_ them! Lilly and James! You killed them!”

Remus snarled, but he had barely drawn his wand, intending to cast incarcerous, when Peter had made motion behind own back, where about a dozen people had gathered, watching deciding whether to step in or not.

With a deafening explosion, the force of which shook the ground and made Remus' body convulse, Peter had blown a crater right into the street. The previously concerned people were now lying dead, some with torn limbs.

Peter dropped something to the ground, small, pink and splattered with red. Remus' wand shook in his hand as he watched Peter shrink away, body transforming into a rat. He was frozen, couldn't move. All of his processes running low and his ears ringing.

Within seconds there were aurors on him, wands pointing, ropes shooting out to bind him. He fell to the floor, losing balance. He took in the picture of destruction before him. A house to the left of the crater had part of its facade blown off as well, a scared resident peering out wide-eyed. Then a spell hit him, knocking him out.

  
  


A dreadful cold filled him. It was around him; inside him. It reminded him of how he'd felt when Sirius had shoved him away, their big fight. All the nasty words they'd thrown at each other. Then he came to. A _dementor_. It had to be a dementor. He moved his hand to his waistband, but it was held back. His body gave a sudden jolt at the realisation of his situation and his eyes flew open, drifting around the room. Rows and rows of witches and wizards lined the edges of the room. He recognised it as a court room inside the ministry of magic. He'd seen it once before in his father's memory. The trial where he'd angered Greyback. The trial after which Remus had been bitten.

His father's face was in the crowd once again, but Remus wasn't sitting next to him. His father was looking at him.

“Dad? Dad.” Suddenly he realised his situation, remembered clearly what had happened. He became aware of bindings around his limbs properly and knew better than to struggle against them.

He looked back up. His father looked... sorry. But in a different way from his usual guilt. Pitiful?

His mother, before she'd died, had been an open book. He'd always been very close to her. Probably because she hadn't known the wizarding world and had held more open views on it all. He was never sure. But whenever he'd needed to talk, he'd sought her out. With her dead, both he and his father were evermore lonely. To see his dad forlorn and concerned like this... he had to look away. It wasn't his fault and yet he felt like he'd disappointed him greatly.

There were innumerable unfamiliar faces around him. One he recognised as Millicent Bagnold, minister for magic, talking to another wizard. His father had told him about her and how she would soon be taking the position. Peter's parents were there. As was Sirius. Sirius. “Sirius!” he hissed hopefully, but the look on his ex' face was not one of reassurance. It was loathing.

“Mr Lupin,” called Bagnold suddenly, and Remus looked at her. “Now that you are awake, we can finally begin. Please state your full name.” She was around his own age, the lack of experience clear in her overcompensation in tone. He couldn't blame her, this was not the nicest time to come into office. Tough situation and all.

“Remus John Lupin,” he rasped, then coughed and swallowed. His throat was suddenly awfully dry.

“Your father is Lyall Lupin, currently working here at the ministry?”

Remus' eyebrows furrowed. “Yes,” he confirmed, glancing quickly towards his father.

“And your mother was Hope Lupin, nee Howell. Deceased. A muggle?”

“Yes.” He was growing more and more confused. He knew why he was here. It was a mix-up, a mistake, but what did it matter who his parents were, for crying out loud.

“You were born in March 1960, age 21, unmarried.” Bagnold's voice seemed oddly judgemental, but he still couldn't place it. His eyes now flicked towards Sirius, who was still considering him with great disgust. Remus wondered briefly where he had left Harry before thinking he was probably with someone from the order. When Bagnold didn't continue, Remus looked back at her. He nodded when he realised they were waiting for him to answer again.

“This wand,” she said, holding Remus' wand up for him to see, “which was collected together with that of Peter Pettigrew, deceased, is ten and a quarter inches, cypress wood and unicorn hair core.”

“Excuse me, but what does matter? Peter Pettigrew is not dead-”

“You are a werewolf, are you not, Mr Lupin?”

A murmur broke out across the room. Remus hardly wanted to know who had given her that information.

His gaze drifted down and he looked towards his father again, whose face was painted with shame and guilt. Remus' shoulders sank and he regarded the floor before him as he drew a deep breath. “Yes. I received the bite when I was four years old.”

The gasps and murmurs had continued until Bagnold called for order and Remus was sure he'd heard a hissed 'no surprise then' amongst the many opinions voiced by ignorant people on a topic they didn't understand the first thing about. “Where did you get this wand, Mr Lupin?”

His head snapped up again to look at Bagnold. “I- excuse me? It's mine. I bought it when I was eleven years old. Before attending Hogwarts.”

“Werewolves don't attend Hogwarts and they don't use wands, Mr Lupin.”

“Well, I-”

“Did you steal it from someone?”

“No! It's mine! My father was there with me, he can vouch for me.”

But instead of asking his father, Bagnold finally addressed the matter at hand. “Yesterday evening, the thirty-first of October 1981, you were seen by the house of James and Lily Potter only shortly after they had both been attacked and killed by you-know-who, who met his downfall there. We have reason to believe that you have lead him there.”

“I didn't. I would never! I couldn't have! They were protected by a fidelius charm among others and their secret keeper was-... it was Sirius Black. At least that's the last I knew. I was up north at the time. Peter Pettigrew came to take me back there. It was through him that I could find them again.”

“And how was Pettigrew supposed to know?”

“I don't know. You'll have to ask Sirius,” his eyes drifted on his last remaining friend again, “I hadn't seen any of them, apart from Peter, in a while.”

  
  


It continued in that vein. Over and over Remus explained and reasoned against Bagnold's arguments, seeing that he was getting nowhere. Sirius told the court that they had changed secret keeper to Peter because he himself had been targeted and the information not safe. Peter had apparently told him that he'd seen Remus with various people known, at the time, to have been cooperating with Voldemort.

Albus Dumbledore, whom Remus hadn't seen hidden behind a few others, came up to inform the court he had, like Remus had said, seen Peter interact with Remus. The, supposedly deceased, man had apparently been trying to convince Remus return to their side.

Remus, meanwhile could only shake his head and watch it all happen. None of his negations and claims getting him anywhere. His father was not questioned. Not that he could give him an alibi.

“Now, Mr Lupin, I think we have a fairly clear picture before us. In fact, I only granted you a trial with such a simple and obvious case because your father plead to us. So, you convinced Peter Pettigrew to reveal the location of James and Lily Potter to you, likely in written form so you could pass the secret on to you-know-who, who is known for having brought a great number of werewolves into his circles. Once Pettigrew discovered what you had done, he tried to hide, but you hunted him down, stole his wand and killed him as well as a dozen muggles. You used that innocent and naïve man, his lasting faith in you and created chaos and destruction, and grief for a lot of muggle families. Not to mention you brought about the Potters' deaths and left Harry Potter an orphan. I propose a life sentence to Azkaban and ask now: Those in favour of conviction?” Bagnold looked around the room, roughly counting the hands of nearly all members of the jury. “Those in favour of clearing the accused of all charges?” Remus could count the hands that rose in one glance. His throat constricted. “The accused will be sent to Azkaban.”

His eyes darted to his father again. “Dad!” he croaked, quiet but urgent. The cold around him drew further in, filling his insides until his breath became visible in front of his face. His father brought a shaking hand up to his mouth, his look ever the apologetic expression.

Bony, corpse-like hands touched his arms as the restraints vanished and he felt powerless to do anything but follow, feet dragging across the floor. “Sirius,” he muttered numbly, in part pleading, but mostly as a response to the voice ringing in his head. The rattling breaths in his ears were a terrifying kind of hypnotic and he could feel himself losing consciousness as the energy was drained from his body.

His father was kneeling before him, crying as he applied the salve to his upper arm. It burned badly and his mother was holding him, soothing. Her heartbeat under his ear overpowering the volume of his own sobs of pain and fear. Sirius was looking at him over the table, pleading with him to accept his apology. Then Sirius' eyes were cold, distant. A look he'd only ever seen him give Severus now directed at him. His body burning and ripping itself apart as it changed anatomy. His conscious mind slipping beyond his grasp.


	2. but one has been living inside me for so long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've heard that trauma does things to people, so I am actively channeling- er, exploring this in my writing now.  
> This is the first and only warning of general trauma themes in the story, just in case that wasn't an obvious direction to go here. Not because I'm that much of a prick, but because I do a lot of it on the fly and can hardly keep track of it. If any major stuff comes up, I will (hopefully) put a proper warning in the notes to the corresponding chapter.

He came to inside a cell. A tiny grey room, bleak. What seemed to be his bed were three broad wooden planks fixed to the wall and kept in horizontal position with the aid of chains. There was a toilet in one corner of the room and the only other view to behold was visible through the bars keeping him inside as the ocean waves crashed against the rocky island. The weather was peaceful at least with the sky overcast. And his cell wasn't too cold. A charm, no doubt. Mind, it wasn't a comfortable warm temperature, but just enough.

He scratched the back of his neck. It was very stiff. As were his legs now that he thought about it. He shifted against the wall he had been leaning against. It was very cold when he pressed his hand against it for leverage. He felt as if he'd pulled all the muscles in his legs and wondered just how long he'd been unconscious and how long he had been exposed to the dementors for. He kept himself steady against the wall, his body either too exhausted or too groggy – or maybe both – to carry its own weight right away.

A life sentence trapped with his worst memories. At least he'd have a lot of material to go through. Sirius kept coming to him in his mind. Over and over they fought. What would he give to go back and tell Sirius he believed him. Perhaps things would have turned out different. He envisioned every scenario in which Peter would be caught. It kept him busy and gave him some satisfaction. And for a good few days, he managed to keep that up. The only human life he saw were the guards bringing him his food each day. They weren't keen on talking, if even they stayed long enough for him to accept the tray. Some just shoved it inside through the gap at the bottom of his door, spilling its contents. It wasn't fancy food and Remus wasn't spoiled for it. Depending on consistency, he picked it off the floor. It was so odd how, when provided with the opportunity, the body would still choose life over death.

A week into his imprisonment, his father visited. “Yes, yes! Just let me-” his voice drifted past Remus' cell. “You don't have to hold my- Remus!”

Seeing him, short, squat, worn robes and face lined with age and worry, Remus' heart jumped and provided him more energy than he'd had since that coward Peter had disapparated in Godric's Hollow to ruin what little Remus' life had to offer him. “Dad!” he gasped, getting up off his bed and approaching the bars.

Two wizard guards had accompanied his father, in part to make sure he found the right cell, but Remus had no doubt they were also there to either protect him or else make sure he wouldn't help Remus escape. As soon as Remus approached the bars, they pulled Lyall back a few steps. He tried to ignore the looks of fear and disgust in their eyes, and instead pay all his attention to his father.

“Remus, my boy!- Let go off me, he's my son!” he pushed at their hands until they, reluctantly, let off him. He immediately stepped forward, threaded his arms through the bars and beat every record of awkward hugs on Remus' list. And yet, it was the most welcome gesture at this point in his life. “How are you? Let me have a look at you!” He promptly dissolved the embrace and stretched to grab Remus' face instead.

Remus did his best to soften his expression to not worry his father any more than necessary. “I'm okay, dad. How are you doing?”

“Yes! Yes, I'm good!” A lie. How Remus could have turned into such a convincing liar with his parents for an example, he'd never understand. “You know, I'm worried about you, but- I'm good. Good...”

“That's nice,” Remus replied with a soft smile. He could at least leave his father his pride in himself, if there was no pride for him to be had in his son. “I'm sorry I'm so much trouble to you all the time.”

Lyall took one of his hands in his two. “You're my kid. You're supposed to be trouble,” he said fondly. Remus laughed weakly.

He looked his father earnestly in the eyes. “You know I didn't do it, right? You believe me?”

There was a short moment of silence in which Remus thought he recognised old fears and suspicions rise behind his father's eyes. Then Lyall's lips pressed together slightly in a show of compassion and pity. “I believe you.”

“Is anyone looking into the case? Are they looking for Peter?”

Lyall shook his head. “No one sees how Pettigrew could have escaped. No one saw him or has seen him since, Remus. Maybe he... maybe he made a mistake and blew himself up along with everything else? He was always clumsy, you told me yourself-”

“That's not what happened!” Remus said, shaking his head vehemently. He kept his voice level, however. If there was any chance of salvation, it lay in composure. “Peter is clumsy, not incapable. He has an aptitude for the dark arts in particular,” he added grimly.

“Well, tell me, then, where did he go and how did he do it unnoticed?”

Remus fell silent. He'd spent quite a bit of his time in this cell weighing the pros and cons of telling everyone that Peter was an animagus. The pros were, that he could _potentially_ get out of there and Peter may be found. The cons started with no one readily believing him, covered telling the tale of how he'd betrayed Dumbledore's trust and ended with potentially getting Sirius thrown in here in his place for not being registered either. And much as he was hurt by the disgust and hate in Sirius’ eyes, and the judgement and disappointment in Dumbledore's, he didn't want to make his misery other people's misery either.

His father shook his head again, sighing. “I don't know how to help you, Remus. You know stuff you're not telling.” Lyall quickly glanced at the guard behind him on his right, and promptly switched to Welsh. “Has it to do with Black?”

Remus heaved a sigh and replied in kind. At least his father seemed to have kept his eventual respect for Remus' feelings towards Sirius. “I'm not covering up any dark deeds done by Sirius, tad. He's not like that.”

“Sounded different to me in that phone call after you two-... parted ways.” Lyall must have realised his switch in language as he glanced at the guards again. Not that he'd worded it differently if they were alone.

“I was wrong. We'd had a fight – a few, actually – and... Peter manipulated us to suspect each other.” For a moment, he paused and thought. How much else might have been due to Peter's mind games? He filed that away for later. He'd have plenty time then. “I think, deep down, I always knew Sirius couldn't be it. He could never have betrayed James.”

“You always had too much faith in these boys...”

“I had friends. I finally had friends!”

“And look where that got you! Your blind trust, your thick-headed loyalty- bloody hell, Remus, you've been worse than a Hufflepuff!”

“So, I should have stayed alone? Not talk to anyone in seven years at school?!”

“You seemed to manage fine before Hogwarts.”

“I can't believe you. I absolutely- do you _know_ what it feels like? To be on your own all the time? To have people looking at you, saying 'don't mind him, he doesn't talk!' Do you _know_ how hard it was to convince everyone I wasn't either a mute or complete idiot?! My _teachers_ treated me like I didn't even understand I existed while grading all my tests As and Bs! My peers _bullied_ me – at _primary school_ – because they didn't know what else to do with me. By the time my Hogwarts letter came _I_ thought I didn't know how to interact with others any more! And you know what? I was right!”

“Remus-”

“And when Sirius Black asked me for my name – when I beat him at wizard’s chess that same evening – I was _scared_. I didn't understand if what was happening was good or bad. For the most time, while my room-mates were being social with each other, physically active, finding and forming human connections, I was sat there reading books. Because I was _so_ afraid I'd do or say something that would make them go away.” For a moment, there was deafening quiet. Tears stung Remus' eyes and his father appeared stunned with shock

“So, it's my fault. I'm sorry, Remus. I only wanted the best for you. Always.”

Remus sighed. He gripped one of the bars and looked down. “I know.” He considered taking back his words, but instead shook his head. No use lying to his father now. Besides, too much in their past had gone sour because they had been lying to protect each other. “It doesn't matter now. No one would listen to me anyway, so I am stuck.” He let go of the bar and turned away from his father.

“I will be visiting you!” His father said urgently. “As much as I can! You shouldn't be alone any more. Not here.”

“You can't be here for long. This place will drive you as insane as it will me.”

“I'm not a prisoner here. I can go home and rest. I will not be leaving you on your own in here, Remus.”

A smile tugged at Remus' lips, shaky, but hopeful. He looked again at his father “Thank you, dad.”

Lyall reached again for Remus' face, and he lowered it to be kissed on the forehead. Once more his father spoke to him in Welsh. “I don't know if you know what day it is... The full moon is in two days...” he seemed to be struggling for words for a moment. 'Be safe' or 'I'll be with you in spirit' would seem neither accurate not appropriate. “Hang in there, cariad bach.”

And visit Lyall did. Once a week. He told Remus they were only letting him because he was still being useful working with the ministry, and that once a week was very generous. Remus knew that wasn't the whole truth, but he really couldn't blame his father. He had a life to lead out there still and this place drained a person more than just temporarily. In all truth, he longed for his father to dedicate all of his life to him now, to have some humanity in here with him, to feel important to the only person he had left. His mother wouldn't be leaving his side if she was still alive.

At the same time, he wanted his dad to stay away forever, to not waste another thought on him, to stop being disappointed in and drained by him. To have a life unburdened by him.

Remus wanted, more than anything, to have his existence acknowledged, the proof that he was still alive and loved – without being the centre of gravity for anyone. If he'd taken anything away from his life, it's that being the most important thing to someone harbours expectations too high and disappointment all around. Once a week was a good balance.

His first transformation in Azkaban came so early, he'd hardly begun settling into his new life. His bones ached with the anticipation of changing species and his muscles ached with the cold and discomfort. His mind ached with solitude and his skin with lack of human contact. He was in pain. Pain he only remembered from his transformations in the first two years after being bitten – when his body had been so freshly infected and his first natural growth spurt was met with the acute, rapid deformation of his skeleton. It was a pain different in quality, but not quantity. His head felt like it was about to split open, for 49 hours. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't sit or lay down without every part that touched anything aching with pressure. He couldn't stand or walk without his legs or spine capitulating. He was hungry and nauseated at the same time and cursed his past self for always denying the monster the meat served at big Hogwarts banquets. He recalled the look of it and the smell. The squishiness under other students’ forks as he bit into carrots and shovelled mashed potato. He caught a slight growl creeping up his throat at the memory of blood seeping out of steaks. Focusing back on his surroundings, he felt his stomach pulling on a feeling of emptiness. His entire body was shaking. He usually only went through this after a full moon, not before.

So, for the first time in his life, the rise of the full moon was a welcome release. With the sunset he'd disrobed, folded the clothes and stored them neatly behind the boards of his bed, turned up against the wall. A wave of anticipation washed over him as the sky was lit anew and the world slowed as his heartbeat picked up. One moment he felt every single artery in his body pound with the force of his own pulse, and in the next he felt nothing but the air in his lungs never being the adequate amount. Lights flickered in his eyes and violent tremors gripped his limbs, and suddenly he couldn't breathe at all. He stared out through the bars at the night sky and watched the moon claim its lane in it. As soon as the first bout of vacuum receded from his lungs, it took with it the pressure and the pain, being pushed out like a cork in a bottle.

Then it picked up around the other cells. His neighbours, confused and frightened, began shouting, screaming for guards to tell them what was going on. And about a minute later, when Remus' screams of pain were turning into triumphant snarls of a wolf, their pleas for answers turned into cries for help. They started to understand.

“Get me out of here!”, “You can't leave us with that monster!”, “What if it breaks out of its cell?!”

Then it was just noise. A buzzing in his ear before he was relieved of the pain and the torment for a good many hours.

Remus awoke to the sound of some poor soul actually praying. Locked up in this place and still keeping faith seemed to him beyond desperate. He picked up on a few key words that reassured him: Yes, he was the cause for their misery – woohoo... Such accomplishments.

He managed to pry open his eyes briefly to see the first rays of sunlight chasing away the deep blue of the night. Then he lost himself to exhaustion, a known routine.

The next thing that stirred him was some loud clatter and something spraying the length of his back. His body gave a weak shudder out of reflex and instantly, his muscles were lit with fire again to protest all movement. He fell unconscious again to a herbal scent. In a dream, there were a large black dog, a tall stag and a rat missing one toe. The dog jumped into a playful stance, his shoulders lowered, tail in the air. He turned in a circle two times before he pounced, barking, chasing Remus in a game of catch. Remus didn't know whether he was human or wolf. Part of his brain told him he only remembered chunks of his times as a wolf, even with his friends around, another part told him he could never outrun a dog with human legs and that none of that mattered anyway as this was a dream. He looked back every couple of steps, laughing, checking if the dog was still chasing him. The dog barked happily every time he did. Through the trees Remus ran until they grew so close that his surroundings began to darken. He turned around yet again, but the dog was gone. He stopped running, turned this way and that. He traced back a few steps and suddenly, there was a clearing. The deer lay there, on its side. It was dead, and it must have been for some time, judging by his state of decay and the flies buzzing around him. Remus' throat hurt abruptly, tightening with grief. He stepped closer to kneel beside the animal and saw the rat, eating away at the carcass. It regarded him with big, glistening eyes as it chewed on the deer's flesh and Remus had the urge to comfort it. He was just reaching for it, both of them crying with their loss, when a growl resonated from behind Remus. He turned around and saw the black dog, its shoulders lowered once more, but this time its growl was aggressive.

Remus started awake, the image of the pouncing dog seared into his mind. He hadn't remembered many of his dreams in the past week, and those he did remember all were inaccurate recountings of the night Peter came to fetch him from his mission. He realised after a moment that he'd been crying in his sleep because there were streaks from his eyes down the side of his face that were now stinging with the cold. Then he realised all of his body was cold. He pushed his palm down against the hard floor and winced as he forced his body into an upright position. Crawling over to the fixture that was his bed, lowered the boards into their horizontal position again and slipped into his clothes. In that moment, they felt freezing cold and rough against his skin and open wounds, but he knew they would help his body regain heat. He did his best to ignore the habitual urge to check his wounds. He couldn't do anything about them if he wanted from inside the cell. And anyway, he didn't want to know. Looking around his cell he understood that the clattering had been his food tray and the upturned cup told him that the splashes and smell had been his tea.

And in that vein, things continued. His father visited, the full moon came and went. Slowly but surely he began to forgive Peter and wondered instead what he could have done different to help that boy. He'd already tried to act as the glue that kept Peter in the group. Maybe that was the point, however, maybe he should have grabbed Peter and just been friends with him by himself, the odd ones out. The other two hadn't cared too much anyway. Peter's company was welcome because it made James shine and tolerated because Remus had wanted him around. And that boy had been so desperate for the cool boys' friendship, it had appeared worth it to him, so it seemed, to be treated like a hanger-on at the best of times. Both James and Sirius had spent plenty of not-quite-nice words for the boy and Remus was beginning to feel ashamed in earnest for not having stood up to them. If Sirius had truly loved him, and this was one rare thing Remus was sure of, then he'd have listened to his appeal. Only he'd never made one because he'd been scared to lose everything. And he couldn't blame Peter for the same reasoning. Some fine examples for Gryffindor courage they were.

“I went to your mother's grave today. Before coming.”

Remus smiled hollowly and nodded. “I miss her.”

“Me too.”

The dementors made him relive all kinds of things, from emotionally traumatising to already forgotten regrets of his childhood. “We don't want to play with you. You're a weirdo.”

“I'm not a weirdo!”

“You don't even know our names. You're a weirdo.”

“I'm not a _weirdo_!” He'd pushed that kid. He hadn't meant to, and he certainly hadn't meant to do it so hard. The screaming was intense and Remus felt frozen in place. There was a bleeding wound where forehead had made acquaintance with the edge of a sea-saw seat. The other children had scrambled to get their parents, but two mothers were already on their way: The injured kid's and Remus' own. The other child's mother was fawning, cooing, wiping and prodding. Hope was just looking on as she hugged Remus tight. Then the shouting ensued and Remus remembered weeping thoroughly at the accusations against him for being a monster, against his mother for being an irresponsible parent and against his father for being absent instead of teaching Remus not to be violent. Remus just kept heaving his apologies, blind for the constant stream of tears. Hope apologised more articulately on his behalf but reprimanded her for taking such a tone with a child, and how could she forget they all don't know their own strength.

Remus was shocked when he was made to relive that moment. Shocked that he had forgotten, mostly. That kid’s head had bruised on the spot. Recalling that sight almost made him want to forget again for fear he might throw up.

But it happened once more. Just once. This one Remus hadn't forgotten. It had been in their third year at Hogwarts. Some fourth-year student Remus had later been too ashamed to learn the name of had laughed at his scars. “What did you do, huh? Fight a dog? You look like a chew-toy!” Then he'd laughed at how tall and thin he was. And then at the dark circles under his eyes. Remus hadn’t reacted visibly, so the boy had reached for his wand. Remus pushed him out of reflex. The boy stumbled backwards over a bench and hit his head on the stones sectioning off a flowerbed. If only he'd held out for another few seconds.

“Remus!”

James, Sirius and Peter were running up to him, they'd seen what he'd done, how he'd lost control and underestimated his physical strength for the second time in his life. They'd spun it to his advantage, warning that next time, he'd throw any bully all the way over the the roof of the great hall. Remus had felt dizzy and not known whether to laugh or to cry at this, as it was so ridiculous that those kids might have actually believed it. What did not make him want to laugh at all was the trouble McGonagall had given him and the following letter from his parents. A mere wonder that one hadn't turned out a howler.

The visits from his father eventually became sparser. He’d ask after Remus’ wellbeing but never commented on how much weight he was losing again. Remus had stopped asking how Lyall was doing altogether. He’d had enough watching the lies play out in his father’s eyes.

Lyall told him he wasn’t working with the ministry anymore, again.

He told Remus that there was a potion for werewolves being developed – he’d gone to see the guy – and that there was a brighter future ahead for his kind. This did actually make Remus happy. He’d not have access, of course, but just the thought that some scared kid out there might have a chance living the way he’d never been able to was beautiful.

Lyall told him he’d read about Harry Potter celebrating his second birthday at a muggle zoo.

And he asked Remus for info on Peter.

One of the recurring memories, the most scarring, was from their sixth year. Sirius' face as James told Remus Snape knew about him. That Sirius had told him how to get past the Whomping Willow. It had taken him months to work through all of it, with Sirius following him all the time, pleading with him. Crying. Remus had not seen Sirius cry like that any other time, that’s how much he had regretted it. And Remus had felt so bad not being able to forgive him sooner, not being able to rid himself of the hurt and anger quicker.

“Remus. Hey, Moony, wake up. It's just a nightmare.”

“Hm?! Oh... I'm sorry, Pads. Didn't mean to wake you up.”

“Don't worry about it.” A kiss to his temple. “Do you want to cuddle more closely?”

Remus shimmied back up against him and Sirius pulled him close. “Please go back to sleep now.” Remus said. Sirius wasn’t a sound sleeper either,

“You too. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He played those words over and over again like a two-sided single so short he had to stand right next to the player and keep turning the record, and lift and lower the needle. It was worth the effort every time he heard it echoing. He began collecting these memories in particular. Just every time Sirius had told him he loved him. Occasionally, Remus found himself waking up with dried tears on his cheeks and his last waking thought having been “I love you.” But this repertoire shrunk with every visit from the dementors. Every “I love you” replaced with any falling out they’d had. Remus was surprised by how many there had been. So many fond memories of Hogwarts and Sirius slowly tainted with fights before and after and he could tell he was losing it. Each attempt at hanging on to good times undermined by the overgrowing roots of the bad stuff. His transformations really did feel good these days in comparison. While his body may be in pain, his memories would finally shut up.

Sometimes he wouldn’t see his father for a few weeks. Sometimes not for two months. His cell-neighbours had begun talking to him once they’d gotten used to the transformations about half a year in – and being assured now, that the monster couldn’t escape its cell.

“You know, sometimes I wish you _would_ get over here and just kill me.” The one to his left kept saying from time to time. Remus was quite sure they was losing their short-term memory rapidly at this point. Remus wouldn’t judge. He felt like he was losing time himself.

“Harry Potter just turned four, you know.” Remus was confused, but his father seemed to misinterpret his expression. “I thought you’d want to know… You always liked Potter and Evans. You seemed so fond of their son…”

“No, I do. I am. I just… didn’t realise so much time had passed.”

“Sorry, I know I should have visited during summer, but after the anniversary of your mother’s death I could hardly leave the house… Heh, on the upside: I now understand how you used to feel when you were cooped up in your room.”

Remus forced on corner of his mouth up into a crooked smile. “Do you how he is doing?”

“He seems to be fine!” Lyall said enthusiastically. “I mean, all I know is what they write in the paper and magazines and such. I’d bring them here, but…”

“Do they mention Sirius?”

Lyall sighed. “Only to say that he’s the boy’s guardian.” Lyall was shaking his head softly, in the way Remus knew he wasn’t aware of doing.

Apparently this conversation, and the fact that Remus still inquired about Sirius, scared away Lyall’s motivation to visit because Remus didn’t see him for about half a year. Or maybe he just couldn’t remember any conversation in between.

“Pad?”

“Yes, Bambi?”

“Who is this one?”

Sirius turned away from the carrots and potatoes to walk over to the sideboard. He knelt beside Harry to look with him at the photograph.

“Papa, Maman, Worm and Pad. Who?” Harry pointed at each figure in the picture – the four that he’d told him about many times and lastly the one he had always avoided. He’d have ripped him out, but that would have also disposed of Peter and that was just morbid and disrespectful.

Harry climbed onto his thigh and Sirius snuggled him close as he looked into the face he tried to forget so often. “Do you remember what I told you about papa and maman?”

“They died because of… bad man… vol…”

“Voldemort, yes. He,” he pointed at Remus’ smiling face, “is the reason Voldemort found your parents.”


End file.
